Sweet
by Odiphi
Summary: L likes sweets for more reasons than one.
1. The One, Lemon Custard Cake

**Summary: One simple dessert sparks an insatiable passion that would last a lifetime.**

I enjoy sweets.

Candies. Cakes. Pies. Syrups. Glazes. Pastries. Custards. Chocolates. Biscuits. Sweet teas. Sorbets. Ice creams. Cheesecakes.

My somewhat unnatural attraction to confectionary genius is one of my only weaknesses. My habit manifested itself innocently enough. During my adolescent years sleep began to deceive and elude me, (not to any particular disdain of mine) so during the densest hours of twilight when I would still be very much coherent, hungry, and working on some case or another I would often unfurl myself from my favorite scarlet red wingback chair, go to the kitchen, and grab whatever food happened to be handy and in sight.

It always happened that the food I managed to find would usually be the remainder left over from the dishes served at dinner or snack time from the previous evening.

On one singular occasion, this dessert stands out from all the rest of the cold turkey sandwiches and common spaghetti dishes that came countless times before. Not that I hadn't had snacks of desserts before either, but this single slice of cake stands out from any of the other in my mind. It was so saccharine and delicate. Velvety and fragrant, light and dainty, airy and delectable… it was a lemon custard cake.

It wasn't too sugary, insofar as initial taste, which is why I find it odd that this would be "the one" to garner all my passion for this culinary genre but…

By God, man.

This was no ordinary desert.

The actual cake had three layers with a thick but lightly whipped lemon custard middle. It was almost the consistency of a freshly baked cheesecake but without that troublesome pudding dribble. You see, there's something about pudding cakes you must understand on the level that I do. Custards, when they sit and even after they're chilled can get a sort of runny syrup that oozes out and when layered in cakes can seep out and make the rest of the pastry soggy.

That simply will not do. It almost makes me sick to think of all the countless custard cakes defiled and utterly ruined because of such talentless endeavors. I've had to sample such disgraceful attempts before and if you know me, you know there's no greater disappointment than a poorly executed dessert.

No, this custard was so consistent and set with no air pockets to mar the tasting experience. No runny ooze or flagging texture. Pure and simply put, it was perfection that I've seen many times since but none comparable to that very first brush with goodness. Such raw talent and love, the taste palatable and embracing.

Aaaah, but I digress.

The cake itself was moist but not gummy. It was the perfect shade of light poppy yellow to contrast the paler pudding middle. It was flecked throughout with actual tangy and fresh lemon zest and the outside crusts of the cake were indistinguishable from the interior. It was dense without calling to mind a pound cake, rich, tender, and Lord, the fragrance…

Mouthwatering. It permeates my mind, even to this day.

Finally, the top was dusted with a generous and finely sifted confectioner's sugar and crystallized glaze that had tantalizingly dribbled in perfect zig zagged patterns over the top and lazily drooped down the sides. It was undertaken with such professionalism that the glaze hadn't even hardened with the time that had passed since it was lovingly placed on the crystal cake plate. It was still sticky and syrupy and delightful.

And so, being already titillated to the heights of my hungry ecstasy as I stood there staring at this labor of love naughtily beckoning from its cake plate prison, I made my first move and followed through to my last.

I ate slice after slice of that cake until the richness gave me quite a sublimely torturous bellyache. I'd never had an amount of "sweets" that substantial before…

I managed to devour exactly three eighths (crumbs and all) of that cake, the sugar rush carried me higher and higher into paradise and I wasn't hungry again until noon that very next day, and even then all that I could be sated with was the one, lemon custard cake much to the delight of Wammy's then baker. She was utterly thrilled (as it was a new recipe she'd invented on her own) however, my caretakers at the time were not.

It was simply just too much sugar, they insisted. It just wasn't healthy.

And so began out of my small but docile attempt at pseudo-rebellion (against my handlers), and my newfound lust for sweets, the single love affair that would last me my lifetime.

It all began with "the one", lemon custard cake.

**Will give sexual favors for reviews**

**~OdiPhi**


	2. Chocolate

Chocolate. Passé. Ordinary. Mundane.

It's a well-established fact that I love sweets, chocolate included but, I exhausted the novelty of the candy at an early age. After all, for most youngsters, chocolate is one of the main introductions into the world of delicious sugary treats. Yes, my fondest memory and first taste of sugar and all of its subsequent decadent and more conservative manifestations was embodied in a plain milk chocolate bar. I was an enraptured tot; cheeks rosy, fingers sticky, and face smeared with melted chocolate. I was scolded and the candy snatched away very quickly. I was two and a half at the time. I can still vividly remember the smooth, velvety texture and the warm inviting scent; it weighted heavily on my palette, my saliva turned thick and gooey over saturated with cocoa and sugar. It was obnoxiously sweet, rich, and delightfully satisfying. Even at that age I instantly loved it and for many years it was my staple. Chocolate was everything that I loved about my dull and regulated childhood. It was calming and simple. It was what I always took refuge in. It was just plain fun. However, as most things in childhood an adult often forgets the joys of more simple pleasures. I more or less forgot the simple glee of unadorned confections. Like a junkie needing a fix I craved creations that would take me higher. Creations that would captivate and hold my interest. New textures, tastes, and combinations soon took away my childlike infatuation until I truly had forgotten the days of old and my first brush with true love.

When I was still too young to be addressed as an adult but too old to be called a child I returned to Wammy's from a 'holiday' in Rome which had involved an art thief and vandal that terrorized the city and its precious artifacts. My desk was unusually empty of casework and atop my usually cluttered table top Wammy had placed a homecoming gift basket of various items and a startling excess of candies and sweets but none as plentiful as plain chocolate morsels. Suddenly, my early memories of chocolate came back to me in a flood of nostalgia. I, for the first time since I could remember when, craved chocolate. I craved its warmth. I craved its fun. However, even after I consumed a few of the candies I wasn't satisfied. I wondered, darkly where the joy of my life had gone. I must admit, I moped. I moped the way most do when they've come to the realization that something they've loved, they've outgrown and cannot have again. My thoughts were melodramatically dark. In my pouting stupor I walked about and as usual I found that my absent minded pacing had carried me inevitably to the kitchen. To dessert jars and plates.

I was famished.

And, out of the corner of my eye a new-tiered dessert display caught my eye. It was shining and beautiful, its pastel colored plates were frosted with accents and tiny embossed designs. A blue curly cue here. A dainty little pink cupcake there. Small dots and confetti's and tiny desserts. It was childish and it was wonderful. But what was on the lowest of the elevated trays is what held my attention even more. As if I had willed them into being, a seemingly plain assortment of small chocolate cabernet cakes were arranged in a haphazard, playful fashion. A delicious wave of warm chocolate aroma emanated from the still warm cakes. The spicy scent of light baking herbs filled the air, inviting and playful. The tops of the cakes were dusted with earthy cocoa powder, cinnamon, and powdered sugar. It was absolutely comforting and heartwarming and I had a very hard time picking my first victim.

After much contemplation, I did pick one; the biggest cake on the far left of the arrangement. Would the cake be good? Would it answer my questions? Had I indeed outgrown chocolate? Despite my hesitation when I finally did slice into it with my fork I was simply amazed. The cake was spongy and liquid molten chocolate slowly oozed out from the poked wound.

The first bite was... heaven.

Traces of nutmeg and cinnamon; even the cocoa dust was lightly sweet and the texture was truly reminiscent of a soft, chewy chocolate bar. I could feel my spirits being bolstered higher and higher with each movement of my jaw and somehow I was transported back in my mind. I could hear the aide's scolding... I could feel the sticky sensation smearing my hands and lips. I could even remember begging my caretakers for more. The dessert lay heavy in my mouth. It was thick, warm and mouthwatering and the Wammy baker had added a slight hazelnut and amaretto flavoring to the thick syrup, it was almost alcoholic. Not quite as sweet as I remembered but my dark doubts were very quickly torn asunder. Chocolate had finally grown up with me. The joy and happiness of chocolate could still be mine.

And mine it was, as I finished all six of those mini cakes. Even as I turned back to my study, the elated feeling of childishness increased and I can't remember a time since that I was high on happiness for so many days. I have yet to experience chocolate in that capacity since my teenaged years and even though I still do occasionally enjoy chocolate I will never forget that time I so preciously got to experience my carefree days again.

My days of joy. In the most simple of things.

~OdiPhi

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